


Avoid Them Like The Plague

by keysmash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The roadside conversations just keep coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avoid Them Like The Plague

**Author's Note:**

> Vague spoilers for 414.

Sam woke up at a scenic overlook, with his cheek pressed against the passenger window and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The Impala had cooled down, and Sam was alone in the car. He stepped out, groggy, and found Dean leaning against the trunk with a beer bottle in one hand. He took another from a foam cooler at his feet, popped the lid with his ring, and handed it to Sam.

Sam drank a long pull and took up his position on the far side of the trunk, out of Dean's peripheral vision, with the taste of yeast in his mouth. Below them, the setting sun painted a forest in golden light.

"Sammy, I," Dean started. He stayed quiet for a while, then took another drink and continued. "You gotta stop getting mushrooms _and_ peppers on the same pizza, man. I'm cool with either one, but." He shook his head. Sam watched the back of his neck and gulped his beer again.

"I just don't like em both at the same time," Dean said, low and fast. "I can't do it anymore."

Sam rolled his eyes and finished his beer. When he reached for another, he opened one for Dean as well.

"Sure, Dean," he said, and tapped the bottle's mouth against Dean's upper arm. Dean took it without looking back. "You want me to drive?"

Dean shook his head. "Just gimme a second, alright?"

Sam shook his head. "Sure," he repeated, deadpan.

.

A gull cried somewhere, off above them. Sam swirled his beer around the bottom of his can and wished he'd brought a snack. On the far side of the trunk, Dean stared at the horizon and frowned.

"I want a safeword," he said, quietly enough that Sam could barely hear him over the roar of the surf.

"A safeword," Sam repeated.

Dean nodded without looking up.

Sam frowned. "Is this what last night was about?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder, wide-eyed. "How'd you –" He broke off and shook his head. "Yeah, okay? Just." He shook his head again, emphatically.

"You should have told me then," Sam said. He ducked his head and tried to catch Dean's eyes, but huffed when he couldn't and walked to the car's other side. "You know there are other ways you can talk to me?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah, like what?"

"Somewhere not – " Sam extended both arms and gestured – the Impala ticking quietly between them, a cliff ledge at their feet, the ocean spread out across the entire horizon. "This doesn't have to be such a big production."

"Sassafrass," Dean said.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Bless you?"

"Safeword." Dean sighed and turned to face the ocean. "Sassafrass.'

Sam ran both hands through his hair and then got back in the car. Dean stayed outside for a while. Sam scowled at the water before shrugging, fishing out the journal, and writing _sassafrass_ in the bottom corner of one of its last few pages.

.

"I was only pretending to be asleep when you drove last night, alright?" Dean asked.

Dean parked them under a bridge this time, next to a factory spewing smoke. Sam sipped his beer and studied the graffiti on a pillar closest to him. He couldn't make out what it said: TJ was here? T, iWhore? Teh narwhal?

"And you were listening to that pansy shit again, Death Cab Cutiepie or whatever?"

Sam snorted. "Something like that." He scuffed his feet. The cement felt gritty beneath his shoes.

Dean dropped his head and stayed silent for a long time. Sam tilted his head and wondered if what he thought was a T might actually be a 7.

"I liked it," Dean said finally. "I listened and I _liked_ it, and." He shook his head. "There's no getting past that, is there."

Sam sighed and crumpled the empty can in his hand. "We can work on it, man." He tried to put his hand on Dean's shoulder, but Dean just shook him off. Sam tossed both hands up and got himself another beer instead.

.

Sam climbed out of the car and walked a few yards up and down the side of the road to stretch his legs. When he came back to the Impala, he found Dean sprawled flat on his back on the hood. His feet rested on the ground, he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, and his shirt had ridden up, just a little, so that Sam could see his happy trail. He maybe wanted to lick it.

He went to the trunk and dug for the beer anyway. Dean shook his head when Sam offered him a can.

"That's the whole problem, Sammy." He lifted one hand away and stared at Sam with a wide, damp eye. "Cans? Since when do we drink outta _cans_?" Dean pulled his other hand away and hid his eyes behind the crook of his elbow instead.

"I thought –" Sam cracked his open and drank. "This way they won't break in the car." _Or here on the ground, after we go._

Dean shook his head. His chest hitched a few times. Sam crawled up next to him on the hood and leaned against the windshield. Dean pulled away when his arm brushed Sam's leg, and Sam drank again, deeply.

"Beer in cans tastes like pennies, Sam," Dean complained.

Sam propped the empty on the windshield wiper and started in on the beer he'd meant for Dean. "Won't happen again," he said.

Dean sighed.

.

Dean planted both hands carefully on the roof of the car, and stared down, between his arms. Sam mirrored his stance, from the passenger side. The grass between his feet was almost dead.

"We should stop for lunch soon," Dean said. Sam looked up in time to see him shudder.

"Lunch," Sam said.

Dean closed his eyes. "Yeah."

Sam straightened and clapped his hands. "Let's go, then."

Dean shook his head. "I'll be right there."

Sam slammed his door when he got back into the Impala. He watched Dean's amulet sway through the window for almost a quarter of an hour before Dean joined him. He slid his sunglasses on and blared the music before pulling back onto the road. Sam counted mile markers until they reached the next town.

.

Sam traced his thumb over the passenger side door handle while Dean leaned against the back door next to him, arms crossed and one ankle kicked over the other. Their beers, wet with condensation, rested on the Impala's roof. Sam stared over the car at the moss-draped cypress trees and waited.

"I'd almost forgotten about this part." Dean chuckled humorlessly. "Like I blocked it out or something."

Sam nodded and leaned a little closer to Dean. Dean didn't lean back, but he didn't move away, either.

"While I was, you know," Dean said, "down in the Bargain Basement, I." He scrubbed his hands over his face, then tilted his head back to rest it on the Impala's roof. "I made up offensive nicknames for the souls I tortured," he said.

Sam glanced over, eyebrows high, and found Dean's eyes squeezed shut.

"Not even funny ones, either," Dean continued. "Just stupid stuff, but now, I can't stop feeling gui --"

"Oh my _god_," Sam said. "Dean, shut _up_."

Dean's eyes went wide for a moment before his face shut down in anger. He pushed off the car and rounded on Sam, but Sam turned around himself. He grabbed Dean by the biceps and swung them both around, so that the Impala pressed against Dean's back and Sam pressed against his chest. Dean glanced down between them and smirked, but even though Sam felt both their dicks twitch at the contact, he shook his head.

"Dean," he said slowly, "let it go. You were _in Hell_. You get a pass."

Dean shook his head and drew a breath, but Sam clapped his hand over Dean's mouth before he could speak.

"I mean it," he said. "You need to talk about it, we'll talk, but I'm sick of you blaming yourself for stuff you had to do to survive." He raised his eyebrows at Dean, who glared for a long time before looking to the trees behind Sam and nodding.

Sam let go and clapped him twice on the chest. Dean kept staring off, and he didn't look at Sam when he spoke again.

"You didn't hear them, though," he said. Sam gritted his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"They were souls _in Hell_," he started, but Dean kept going.

"Busty McHottie-Bitch," Dean said, " I mean, what the fuck is that about --"

Sam dropped to his knees with a growl, yanked down Dean's zipper, and latched his lips around the crown of Dean's mostly-soft cock. Dean squawked in surprise above him, but he stopped talking as Sam started sucking. When he was hard in Sam's mouth, Sam pulled back and jacked Dean, his own drool dripping down his fingers and wrist, and met his gaze.

"I said, shut up," he said.

"Sassafrass," Dean said, and then, "hey, no, the lecturing, don't stop everything else."


End file.
